I've just been left with an open box of my favourite wafer-thin mints. There is a small pile of empty black pockets beside me and I'm trying hard not to add to it. A normal person may just be able to put the box away and concentrate on something else. When it comes to chocolate, I'm not normal.

Knitting, on the other hand, now you know that my approach to all things yarn is very well adjusted. For example, Knitting Friend and I went to one of my favourite yarn shops today and I bought nothing. (But I was there four days ago and left with several balls of lovely tweed. Hmmm, think I may have forgotten to mention this to Knitting Friend.) In the last four weeks, I have finished three projects. (But I have also started three others. And then there are my long-term projects....) We're selling our flat so we've put some of our things into storage including – wait for it – some of my yarn. Most of this is in clearly labelled, well organised boxes (but there might be some instances of using Kid Silk Haze as packing material. Yes, I realised that this was a step too far when another knitting friend looked at me in horror after sharing this information with her.) What did I tell you? Perfectly normal.

Our recent episode of de-cluttering has left several clear surfaces which, over the last couple of days, have slowly become enhanced in a yarn-related manner. My fancy needle case adorns the top of the sewing table in the sitting room. The chest in our bedroom has a few knitting magazines "artistically" arranged on its surface. Our chest of drawers is "decorated" with a select few knitting books. I honestly don't know how this happened. Husband is partly to blame as he isn't here to prevent the spread, at least by putting his own stuff in its place. Oldest Son also has to share some of the responsibility as he likes browsing through the magazines, which not only have numbers (that he loves) but he's also getting pretty hot on his letters too. And recognising words: In addition to his name, "John Lewis", "Tesco" and "Google", we can add "knitting" and "Katherine" to his repertoire. I choose not to share this information with any sort of psychologist type.

It is quite a strange sensation though, being separated from my yarn. I don't actually need it (right now) as I have more than enough here, supporting their associated unfinished projects but I keep thinking of things that I could do with it if it was here. And no, this doesn't include giving it away or selling it. And yes, it does work on the invalid assumption that I could spend my days and nights knitting (and not playing "Elefun", completing puzzles, playing in the park, reading stories, shopping/eating/browsing in John Lewis, going to Tesco and never ever trying to catch a sneaky five minutes on the internet).

Speaking of sneaking-away, I'm wondering if perhaps I should do that now – go to bed, that is. Given the recent "adventures" of the last couple of nights, I am actually quite tired. Plus, not even I have managed to eat in my sleep. And if, for some strange reason I can't sleep, then there's plenty of good reading material close to hand.

I've got six hours on the train tomorrow, sans children. So no need for nappies, Thomas toys, books or a snack bag (okay, keep the snack bag!), which leaves plenty of room for Katherine's toys: One small knitting project, one large knitting project, two knitting-related books, one knitting magazine (still sealed in its envelope, saved especially for this occasion). Hmmm, now I've written it down it doesn't seem enough – what if the train is delayed?!

The plan: To consolidate all my knitting-related bits and pieces into one tidy, organised and documented, err, place.

Though why on earth I ever thought that a weekday afternoon (ratio of adults to children 1:2) would ever be a good time to do this, I really don't know. In my defence, both Sons lulled me into a false sense of security by appearing to embrace "quiet time" – at least just long enough to allow me to completely cover the dining table with what can only be described as a 'proper mess'. For the first time in a long time, yarn, needles and projects in their various states were reunited from their assortment of resting places around our home – including that from under the recently accessed dressing table. Ravelry’s "Needle and Hook Inventory" open, I made ready to start the most thorough audit my yarn-ing had ever seen. Cue Oldest Son.

Apparently he's had a "very, very long sleep". Given the constant chatter coming from his bedroom, I question whether or not he’s had any sleep at all. Apparently he's not tired. And he wants to get up. Now. You know that tone of voice.

After a quick explanation of my plan and the accompanying set of negotiations (something along the lines of we can play in the same room but we'll each be playing with our own toys), Oldest Son joins me at the dining table: "Wow, Mummy! It's so beautiful." Now, I've become wise to the ways of the two-and-a-half year old (and his distraction techniques) so sought further clarification: What, exactly, was beautiful? The array of colours and textures covering the table? The kidsilk haze colour-washing conveniently placed at toddler-eye-level? No, turns out it's the pile of fabric in the centre of the table waiting to form his Daddy's jumper. "Yes, that will keep Daddy warm." Well, not in its present state but here's hoping one day.

All starts off reasonably well: I play with my yarn, Oldest Son plays with his bus. Until he spots my fancy needle chest. I mean it no disrespect but my preferred storage unit for my needles is an old corset box that belonged to my Granny. I know, there's no accounting for emotional taste. Apparently it's a "treasure chest" – at least that’s what Oldest Son says. And it takes a great deal to persuade Oldest Son that my knitting accessories are "treasure": But no, the box of assorted beads doesn't fit. Except when you put it in like that, little boy. No, I don't like to put the array of free buttons and bag handles in there. Well, it's my treasure chest and I say what goes in there. Who's the grown-up now?

Accessories sorted, my attention turns to my needles. As does Oldest Son's. He loves numbers so it's really handy that most needles have numbers on them. Unfortunately, he's not really au fait with "snap" or "pairs" so lots of my needles are now separated from their partner.

Another heirloom from Granny is a sweetie tube full of dpns. A now lid-less tube: Which hand is the lid in, Mummy? Now which one? And the dpns, well Oldest Son had a lovely time using the needle gauge and apparently the needles fit most of the holes. At this point, I give up. And embrace the fact that he's showing an interest. And then Youngest Son awakes.

Now although he has slept, Youngest Son gives the distinct impression of having not slept for long enough but obviously aware of the fun being had in the sitting room, decides that it's time to join us. So the three of us sit around the table. I eye-up the still-enormous mess and wonder how on earth I'm to make any sense of it before, say, Husband comes home. Oldest Son and the driver of the (toy) bus continue checking the contents of the treasure chest, some of which is now "freight" on the back of the bus. To say Youngest Son looks bewildered is an understatement. Confused, perplexed even. Maybe he was expecting something a little less yarn-y. It's clear that he can't see what the fuss is all about. Never mind. He's young in the ways of yarn.

As I am clearly mis-guided in the ways of auditing with children. Unless, by "auditing" you mean "panic packing into a large bag". Well, at least I know where everything is.

Youngest Son has moved out of our room and there's a gaping hole where his cot once stood. It seems that this is the right time to do this as the only one exhibiting any form of separation anxiety is me.

Emotions aside, the absence of the cot does now allow me full access to my dressing table and the contents beneath it. Meet the only stash "on view", in neat, co-ordinating bags and cases. To begin with, the reunion goes well, delighting as I do with my re-found Felted Tweet (left over from "Fyne" and from which I hope to knit another piece of Fairilse, though next time a hat). And then I find the unfinished projects. A jumper awaiting just its seams sewn – even the neck line is complete. A summer top just needing the two should straps to be knitted (think no wider than an icord). The two sides of a tank top finished, needles helpfully waiting in the remaining yarn for the rest. This really is my basket of shame. Well, maybe one of them. Now that really is a depressing thought.

Oh well, I'm sure that after a cup of tea and a few more rows of my current project, I might feel a little less bad about myself. Though maybe this is serious enough to warrant a square or two of chocolate. Well, maybe the whole bar.

Yesterday I attended Debbie Abrahams' "Knit up your own stash" workshop at McAree Brothers in Stirling. Needless to say, it was a great workshop, attended by some very lovely people, but it did raise a lot of interesting questions.

For example, we were asked to bring "a mixture of yarns from your stash". When I mentioned this to Husband, he suggested that I hire a tank for the day in which I could safely transport my entire stash. Hilarious. I'm sure his DVDs take up more space than my yarn but hey, let's not start that. (Particularly as he may have watched all / most of his films thereby allowing them to fulfil their purpose in life.) Now I know that we've talked about my stash before and how I thought that most of its volume comprised "projects in waiting", i.e. complete yarn requirements for knitting said jumper / cardigan (yes, always something small!) but on further inspection, this may not be entirely true: It was scarily easy to fill both a rucksack and secondary bag with yarn "oddments" – and there was still some left. Hmm.... What part of this mixture was I to take?

I had hoped to tackle this problem in a relaxed manner (picture: early evening once the children were in bed, happily surrounded by stash, cup of tea in hand) , but a combination of a busy night before and the failure of my wake-up call (both electronic and from Youngest Son), meant that my resemblance to a hurricane on the morning of the workshop was more than a little disturbing. All of a sudden it didn't matter what yarn I had just so long as I had some! There was little evidence that my colleagues had suffered any such fate. They all had (smaller) more organised yarn "arrangements" – and one even had complimentary fabric!

I don't think that I've ever been privy to any one else's stash (or part-stash) and it wasn't just about the yarn, we were sharing part of our knitting histories: Soft wools from a recent bout of knitting baby-related garments, chunky yarns unused in a children's jumper, felted tweeds left-over from Christmas, beads from a mystery blanket project. Others had taken a different approach: "Project bags" containing balls of yarns of different colours and weights or the "free" yarn from the front of some knitting magazines. You won't be disappointed to hear that I had yarn from most of the above categories.

The colour choices were also revealing. One of our colleagues, who was almost entirely dressed in hues of blue, had a very similar yarn colour palette (which clearly I loved). Another reflected the knitter's obvious fondness of bright colours with a beautiful array of oranges, yellows and pinks which, at the end of the day, were embellished with matching beads. Another worked with earthy tweeds and showed us photos of the finished "original" garment that we all knew would look stunning on her.

So yarn in hand (or rather, spread across the table in front of us), we all chose a project on which to embark. The more adventurous among us consulted stitch libraries and designed unique and stunning swatches. Some tried beading or fairilse for the first time. Me? Well, I panicked. Debbie had brought examples of her own beautiful knitting and fabulous books and I had to stop myself from getting carried away – the aim was to use up my own yarn and NOT buy more to start something "big". But nor did I want to create a swatch which, no matter how beautiful and despite all my best intentions, would probably remain a single swatch and never form part of cushion cover let alone a blanket. I wanted something that I could start and complete in the day. And thus began Project Hairband. In a blend of Cotton Glace and Kidsilk Haze. With beads. And did I complete it? Hey, it's always good to have a small knitting project for when I'm out and about.